


Puzzle Piece

by TakingFlight48



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Commander Granger, Draco is forced to face what that means, Draco pov, F/M, First Kiss, Floorcoaster, Happy Birthday, Hermione almost dies, Kiwis moodboards, Romance blooms even in the darkest of times, She lets him in slowly, She took a risk, WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH, Wartime, start of something - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakingFlight48/pseuds/TakingFlight48
Summary: They say there is no place for love in war, but even a hardened war commander like Hermione Granger deserves it.Draco doesn't think he is the one who deserves to give it to her, but as he rushes to save her life, he cannot help but think he wants to be the one to bestow it upon her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88
Collections: The Floo Network





	Puzzle Piece

**Author's Note:**

  * For [floorcoaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY FLOORCOASTER, YOU QUEEN. 
> 
> WHAT A FUCKING BLESSING it has been to get to know you and love you. You were a role model of mine for so long and now you continue to be so but for a reason totally separate of your writing. xxx 
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to the crew: K, Ina, and CNova for keeping me on track and ensuring I crank this out not 2 weeks after your birthday but the day of. 
> 
> Super, massive, universal thanks and love to Kiwi -- my alpha, cheerleader, support, and mood board creator. 
> 
> This story is from both of us. Her support made sure I didn't trash this last night xx
> 
> Enjoy ☮ ✌

* * *

* * *

He apparated away, holding tight to the broken body in his grip just as a violet spell left the tip of the Death Eater’s wand. He ducked as the negative space sucked them through its vortex, not trusting that the spell wouldn’t have made it through with them. He prepared to crouch low, landing on his knees as they reappeared on the magically barren, dusty land surrounding the safe house. 

She whimpered in his arms and the relief he felt surprised him as much as it propelled him forward towards the guards standing in defensive positions, wands outstretched. 

“l'île de paradis,” he gasped out the secret phrase, flinging himself through the magical barrier as it whispered over his skin, reminding him that if he'd been an enemy, he would no longer have a beating heart. 

“Hold on, Granger,” he growled out as his legs—exhausted from the four-hour battle they had just left behind—pushed him towards the small office turned infirmary. 

“Hold on,” he demanded this time when he realised he could no longer hear her rattling breath. Draco was unwilling to fail in his attempt to save her arse; she could not die in his arms. 

She was not meant for him. It was not his blood-soaked hair and battle-hardened grey eyes that she should last see. She needed to survive this. She needed to survive and continue to drive him insane with her undeserved kindness, her unrequested patience, and her tiny sleep shorts. 

* * *

* * *

Draco was hidden against the back wall of the garden a few days later, having stalked out of dinner when Potter couldn’t stop running his mouth about the risks their team had taken. 

She was fine. She was fine, and the risk had paid off no matter that  _ Draco _ was still furious she had risked so much to enter and dismantle the main Death Eater base. But Draco didn’t have the right to berate her like Potter thought he did. 

Draco didn’t have the right to demand she care even an ounce more about her safety over the ‘greater good’. He definitely didn't have the right to whisk her out of the room, speak to her rationally, and confirm that she did, in fact, weigh the importance of the surprise attack versus a planned stealth mission that would have taken weeks to plan and organise. 

And although Draco had not previously been one to flee, this behaviour had been a new reaction after holding a broken Granger in his arms. The realisation that her death meant more to him than any of the other Order members combined had shaken the flimsy gauze wrapped around his battered soul. 

In his renewed cowardice he had blessedly missed when Potter and Weasley arrived at the safe house two days after their own arrival. Had then slunk out of the infirmary three separate times when Potter or Weasley sat vigil by Granger’s side. When he couldn’t slip away unnoticed, Andy would pretend Draco was helping brew needed healing potions. He wasn’t ensuring her vitals were gaining strength, never confirming the current series of potions that Andy had been transmuting into her bloodstream was still effective, and he definitely wasn’t analysing the progress her magically induced coma was making as her bones regrew. 

He had thankfully missed when she had woken up and apparently taken immediately into Weasley’s arms, an undoubtedly romantic reunion that he had no interest in hearing about. 

He had missed when she had sent them both away and locked herself in her room. According to Red, who was one of the only people who spoke to Draco candidly, Granger was already working on deciphering the journals she had preserved before the Death Eaters attempted to raze their base to the ground. Pompous wizards truly believed they would never be discovered and had no backup plan. Clearly, they fucked up forgetting just what their enemies secret weapon was, or should he say,  _ who _ . 

But none of that mattered because after she took her final healing potion and Andy confirmed she was as fit as could be, she was publicly berated at dinner by her closest friends. 

So instead of enjoying the quiet banter they had grown accustomed to volleying between each other as they ate, Draco had sat, growing tenser and tenser as Potter listed every reason she should have consulted  _ him _ personally prior to the mission. 

No matter that Granger was above him in rank, no matter that he had been assigned to another mission by the very woman who had overcome so much to fill the void of leader when Shacklebolt was forced to go into hiding deep in South Africa. Potter still considered himself the leader of this battle, even after Riddle was defeated, even after he no longer held any special power over the war dynamic, and even after the grief that he justifiably carried with him sent him spiralling more than once in battle. 

Instead of sitting there and watching as Granger’s jaw ticked tighter, her hair grew in volume, and her fingernails tapped a fast staccato against the dinner table, Draco snuck out. 

The last thing he heard before he shot Andy a look, a firm finger over his lips in a plea to remain silent, was Granger demanding Potter treat her as his superior if he insisted on bringing the war to the dinner table. 

Draco let out a low whistle, chuckling at her remark as he clicked the door shut behind him. He carefully skirted around the flower beds Granger had insisted Longbottom bring back to life and Bell now maintained after his horrific murder two months ago. He ducked under the low hanging branches of the old oak he heard Granger used to climb into and read when her family stayed here over summer breaks. 

And he ended up in this position with his silent musings. Groaning at himself, Draco knocked his head back once, twice, three times against the aged stone lining the French properties perimeter. Instead of reminiscing, he bemoaned his uncomfortable fascination with the war-hardened Granger. He tried to push away the light layers she had started to shed around him, knowing it meant nothing more than extended proximity since their skill sets complimented each other. He shut away the potential to feel something for the first time since he had been forced to desert or die ten months previous. 

Knowing what he should be working on was reinforcing his Occlumency—a skill he had been ace at until his crazy aunt had cursed his ability to build walls—Draco searched for a silent space where he could sit. He walked the perimeter of the expansive backyard hoping to find solace in the small seating area she maintained as close to the building—in case of an attack—as possible. 

However, some of the older members who passed through to meet with Granger were sitting there conversing quietly. Draco had little desire to be pulled into strategy right now. He was still too shaken up, still too skittish after the atrocities they had found littered in the dungeons of the stronghold. Even with the heavy involvement he had maintained before leaving the Death Eaters, it was clear some of his former brethren had kept some of the vilest acts sealed tight behind their closed bedroom and dungeon doors. 

It was the depravity that had sunk through her impenetrable exterior that had moved Granger into harm’s way, to begin with. She was a Commander now, yes, but she was still just as disturbed, just as shaken up by their actions that had left her battling four high-level Death Eaters and once, without backup, and with whirling thoughts—and lost. 

When Potter first started to lose it on missions following the devastation at the battle of Hogwarts, Draco had learned that Granger and Weasley pushed themselves to assimilate as much offensive and defensive spellwork as they could. 

When Potter had his first breakdown on the battlefield two years ago, Red had quietly told Draco that it had been Hermione who had pushed Ron to cover Potter as she took on the brunt of the enemy Potter had been battling. It was that pivotal battle on the freezing shores of southern England that Granger had first started to chisel away her warmth and in its place, a warrior was forged. 

However, the moments when she would find Draco in the kitchens or out in the back gardens—the quiet spaces of time after twilight where they would speak in soft voices over steaming cups of tea—he saw glimpses of the witch he had remembered from Hogwarts. 

And after their second glass of drinks, she would even talk like the Granger he never got to know. The young girl that stood before an army of hundreds of years of tradition and demanded equal rights for house-elves. Now, however, the majority of the time she was someone else entirely. A powerful witch who thought long and hard before making a decision, her logical side amplified in the face of an ongoing war and her vengeful streak from years past transitioned into an almost dangerous loyalty that demanded everyone’s attention. Even if they would have prefered to follow Shacklebolt to his hideaway in the African continent, the Order looked to Granger and her team now.

Draco stopped short when he realised his internal musings had taken him to the almost deteriorated outdoor children’s set. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he nudged his dragonhide boot against the muggle rubber, stepping back quickly in case the wooden set tumbled under the light action. When nothing happened, he moved until the metal chains of the swing bounced against his hip as they slowed their movement once again. 

“This will do,” he mumbled, his words silenced almost immediately by the overgrowth of grass surrounding the playset. He needed somewhere secluded to work on rebuilding his mental fortress. Thankful his aunt had been able to reverse the ancient black magic that Bellatrix had thrown at him to stunt the magic within his mind, but the damage had been done, and his mind was an open book should anyone care to look. 

Instead of sitting on the swing as he had initially planned, Draco gravitated towards the silver rings shifting with an invisible wind between the swings. He centred himself with the feel of the cool metal against his heated palms before bearing his weight against them, shoulders tightening as he allowed his feet to leave the ground for a moment. 

_ This would do. _

And as if he could finally release the weight of the past week, month, fuck twenty-three years of his life, he let his hips drop down in an almost squat, arms held at a ninety-degree angle as he slowly looked within. 

As he was shovelling his mother's empty eyes behind the black door in the depths of his vaults, Granger found him. He didn’t notice her at first. Rather it was a light tinkling echoing throughout his awareness like the soft fragrance of her magic reached him before his active mind connected just who was tugging him back to the present moment. 

She stayed silent beside him, taking refuge in the swing to his left, her muggle trainers digging into the dirt and kicking herself back, adding a slow creak to the symphony of natural sounds surrounding them. Draco knew his brow was furrowed, knew when he was working within his mind that his outer countenance screamed to be left alone, but even under her tough exterior she was still a Gryffindor—rarely willing to walk away from a challenge. 

He supposed that's what this could be. If he really wanted to see it as more than a means to put up with his presence, it was most likely merely a matter of Granger wanting to pin him down, understand what made him tick, what had shifted within him so drastically that he had shown up at their last stronghold pleading sanctuary. 

He supposed that was what had initially intrigued him about her as well. And wasn’t that just ridiculous? How two individuals so intrinsically different would slowly gravitate towards each other in the sole purpose of better completing the puzzle that had been placed before them. 

When Draco finally moved, finally pulled his forearms to pull himself back up and dragged the other swing closer so he could finally sit, she spoke. 

“Hello,” she nodded at him, eyes staring resolutely ahead just as he had done until that moment. 

“Granger,” he murmured, also unwilling to disrupt the silence between them. Once seated, he slowly dragged the rings over to him, holding them tight to his chin once more before finally turning to look at her. 

“How was dinner,” he hedged because this is what they did. This is the sort of start to most of their conversations. Draco would bring brevity that he didn’t know he possessed, because around Granger all he saw was the way the light shone off her armour, not the thickness of which she warded herself away from the world. 

Granger huffed out a deep breath as she slowly turned herself in circles, the metal crinkling together as she wound it tighter. 

“I pulled the hierarchy card, no matter how much I detest doing so. I haven’t rushed into anything without considering all angles since the last time you stood on the other end of my wand.” The silence that followed her comment pierced into him, only softened by her light laugh as she let the swing go and slowly spun beside him, her head tilted back, long curls waving in the wind, legs kicked out, and she looked beautiful. 

“I used to sit out here before I knew of the wizarding world—before this war, Harry, you—and dream of something greater. My parents loved France and this property. I'm just sorry I had to return here as this war stretched beyond British borders,” Granger finally said, breaking the reminder of their differences with the same ease she created it. 

"Thank you," she said less wistfully.

Huffing darkly, Draco looked over at her, brows pulling tight and he could barely breathe at the soft expression on her face. 

“Thank you for saving me. I am not infallible and just as much as we learn and regroup regularly with improved spellwork, so do they. I did not recognise the new variance of that bone-crushing curse until it was too late. I would have died, Draco.”

He froze. His lips slightly parted, eyes dashing between Granger's gaze. Her stare was clear. Clear of occlumency, clear of her weathered soul, clear of regrets and plans and accomplishments and future missions. 

Clear and piercing through the shoddily erected walls he had spent an indeterminable amount of time correcting. Hermione's stare moved through his stilted thoughts, sliding through the memories he had locked away first of her small smiles, then her concerned glances, and lately her lingering touch. 

His grey eyes dilated when he realised she was no longer sitting on the swing, arms width away from him, but rather towering over him. Granger’s calloused hands rested over his firm grip on the rings, her brows furrowed as she searched his face for  _ something. _

Whatever it was, she found it as she leaned forward, whispered a final ‘ _ thank you _ ’ before she placed tentative lips over his. He just managed to shut his mouth as she tilted her head, and he opened his legs enough for her to step into him. 

Her lips gained confidence against his own, and his hands shifted away from the rings and around her red jumper, tugging her as close as their bodies would allow. With each caress of her hands over his hair, Draco knew that whoever the puzzle in his arms was, he was confident he would fight to stay alive long enough to find every individual piece. 

  
**_ Happiest of birthdays, Floorcoaster. Thank you for coming back to fandom and thank you for being my friend. _ **   
  


**_ xx _ **

**Author's Note:**

> I would also like to thank Boyd Holbrook and that delicious photo we squealed about just a few weeks ago, Floor, of him with the metal rings. This was bred from that image and I hope you enjoyed it. xxx
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FRIEND; YOU ARE LOVED. 
> 
> All grammar and content issues are entirely my own, even though Grammarly was about for parts of it. 
> 
> Please leave love in words or kudos as they motivate and uplift.
> 
> ॐ


End file.
